


The Laws Of Time

by swordznsorcery



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordznsorcery/pseuds/swordznsorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Who 50th Anniversary fic. Prompt: Any characters who appeared in 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laws Of Time

The Laws Of Time

 

"It smells like Earth," said Susan, as the TARDIS door swung closed. Barbara looked around, decidedly unconvinced. 

"It smells like a musty old warehouse. We might be anywhere." 

"Nonsense, young woman." Striding off, swinging his stick in a familiar, purposeful stride, the Doctor was leaving them behind. They could hear his muttering continue as it faded out of range – an ongoing monologue on her lack of faith. 

"Ah well." Ian drew a deep breath, trying to replicate Susan's less than scientific experiment. "I'm inclined to side with you, Barbara. Still, it could be London." 

"We thought something similar of revolutionary France," she reminded him, and he laughed. 

"Yes, and quite a few other places. Anyway, we shouldn't let him get so far ahead. You know what he's like for getting into trouble." 

"You really shouldn't doubt him so much." There was a defensive note in Susan's voice, although she could hardly have denied her grandfather's propensity for error. "If he says this is London then I believe him. It does seem awfully quiet, though." 

"Yes, it does." Barbara looked around. "It's odd. This looks a lot like one of the warehouses on the waterfront, but the London docks are never quiet." 

"We should get somewhere where we can see out of these walls," said Ian. "Come on. There must be a door or a window around here somewhere. There's plenty of daylight after all." 

"That's because there are holes in the roof," pointed out Susan. "This place is quite rundown. Perhaps that's why it's so quiet? It might have been abandoned." 

"It might." Barbara was frowning. "All the same, it doesn't look very old. Old buildings on the docks are usually reused, at least in our time. It seems strange to see quite a new one just left to fall apart." 

"Looks like rubble over there," Ian pointed to the far side of the warehouse, where a wide opening led into what looked to be another, similar room beyond. As he spoke, the Doctor was disappearing in that very direction. "Somebody's cleared up a bit, but it definitely looks like there's been some kind of a roof fall, or something like that. Watch your step, everybody. It might be dangerous in here." 

"We should warn Grandfather," said Susan. "It would be very like him not to notice." Ian nodded. 

"I'll go if you like. You two be careful. I shouldn't be long." 

"You be careful as well," said Barbara, with the air of one who had to use those words rather too often. Ian flashed her a cheerful smile, already on his way. He had not gone far before Susan's voice echoed around the wide space, high-pitched in curiosity. 

"What's that noise?" 

"I don't hear anything," said Barbara. Ian listened as well, but the silence of their surroundings was almost unearthly. The pervasive lack of noise was all that he could hear. Susan tilted her head on one side. 

"Are you sure? It's... like a funny, buzzing sort of noise. A bit like an engine, I think. Can you really not hear it?" 

"A buzzing engine...?" Barbara sounded puzzled, but even as she spoke, Ian heard the noise at last, his human ears less sensitive than Susan's. It was just as she had described it – a strange, buzzing sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and sent his gaze flying straight to Barbara. He could see realisation dawning on her face as well; could see the horror beginning to widen her eyes. Above them the engine droned nearer, not loud, but strangely, weirdly hypnotic. 

"Into the TARDIS." Ian was running back towards the others before he was fully aware of it. "Quickly." 

"But we've only just—" began Susan, before she was cut short by Barbara, who grabbed at her and began to hurry her back towards the Ship. 

"Don't argue, Susan. We must get into the TARDIS. You do have your key?" 

"Yes of course." Susan was struggling to pull free. "But Barbara, why the rush?" 

"It's a bomb." Barbara glanced skyward, but the source of the noise was not visible, the holes in the roof not giving them nearly enough of a view. "A special sort of bomb called a V1." Her eyes met with Ian's again, still wide with anxiety. "The Doctor was right, then. This probably _is_ London." 

"But London in 1944." Ian also looked up. "At least we can hear it. That's something." 

"I still don't understand." Susan had come to a full stop, a stubbornness showing on her face that reminded both humans of the Doctor. "And if there's some sort of danger, shouldn't we warn Grandfather?" 

"As soon as I'm sure that you're safe," Ian told her, earning himself a horrified stare from Barbara. 

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" she asked. He shrugged, but he could see no other option. They could hardly shelter in safety in the TARDIS and leave the Doctor at risk. There was every chance that he would not recognise the noise. It would hardly have the same, grim significance to him. 

"You really are worried, aren't you," said Susan. "What is this V1 bomb? Why is it so terrible?" 

"All bombs are terrible." Barbara ushered her onwards again, as fast as possible. Just a few feet now. Not so very far. "The V1 was a self-propelled bomb used by the Germans against several Allied cities during the Second World War. That's what you can hear. It's the sound of the engine. It's all right as long as it keeps going, but as soon as it stops..." 

"You always want it to keep going," added Ian. "For it to fly on over somebody else's head. Everybody our age knows the noise, either from personal experience or from the newsreels. So please, Susan. Get into the TARDIS. You should be safe in there." 

"Oh, we'll be perfectly fine in the TARDIS." Susan was fumbling for her key, her usual confidence restored. "No silly old bomb can hurt a ship like ours. But do hurry and warn Grandfather, Ian, please." 

"Yes, of course." Rather less willing than he would have liked to admit, Ian turned away from the safety of the TARDIS, looking back in the direction taken by the Doctor. With luck he shouldn't be too far ahead. For all his bluster and determination, he was still an old man, with an old man's legs. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Ian began to hurry back across the yawning expanse of the warehouse. Why had the Doctor had to rush off? Why couldn't he have waited just a little longer? But it was foolish to speculate. All that mattered now was finding him, so that they could leave as soon as possible. As much as Ian wanted to see London again, he had no desire to prolong his visit now. Above him the infernal drone of the doodlebug grew ever louder, ever closer, and Ian could not help but stop and look back, to be sure that the others were safe. They were at the TARDIS now, and it looked as though Susan was pulling the key from her pocket, ready to let them inside. Perhaps, given their recent history, it should not have been a surprise when the buzzing engine chose that moment to cut out. 

It happened with only the fleetest of warnings; a tiny splutter in the torturous drone, before the silence fell back upon them all. Aghast, Ian looked upward, even though he knew that the roof was there, hiding what he feared he would see. The vast sweep of it, the wood and metal and tiles, mocked him, just as the silence mocked him, and time itself as it slowed to a wretched crawl. He wanted to know. He needed to know. All he could do was wait. It felt as though an aeon passed, but in reality he had time only to swallow. 

The force of the blast knocked him from his feet, a nightmare wind that bowed the wall and buckled the girders framing the edges of his world. Brick dust filled his eyes and his ears, and it was all that he could do to force himself back upright, blinking away grit and tears, coughing up smoke and dust as he fought to locate Barbara and Susan. They were where he had left them, mercifully unhurt, just that little bit further away from the explosion than he had been. Barbara was supporting Susan, who was looking about her wildly, calling out for her grandfather. 

"Get inside the TARDIS!" bellowed Ian, or tried to. His throat was so filled with dust that it was barely a croak, and he stumbled back to them almost in a daze. If his throat was filled with dust, then his head was stuffed with cotton wool, and the ringing sound of tiny, persistent hammers. "This place didn't look too safe to begin with. Get inside." 

"But Grandfather!" sobbed Susan. Ian caught her shoulders, doing his best to be gentle as well as firm. 

"I'll find him, I promise. But you know he would want you to be safe. Barbara, look after her. I'll be back as soon as I can." 

"I'm going with you." Barbara had that determined look about her; the one that said that she could do everything he could, and wouldn't be dissuaded. He shook his head. 

"Don't be a fool. This whole place could come down." His words drew a gasp from Susan, but he could not help that. Barbara, however, was adamant. 

"And what if he's hurt? You might not manage on your own. Susan, go inside the TARDIS, and try not to worry. Keep the doors closed. I'm sure that everything is fine." She looked up at Ian then, her expression daring him to argue. He sighed. 

"All right. Inside, Susan. Now." The girl went, a pale ghost of her usual, exuberant self, and clearly doing her best not to cry. As soon as the door closed, Ian and Barbara exchanged a look, this time without the friction and conflict of moments before. Barbara took Ian's hand. 

"That explosion was awfully close," she said. "He might be—" 

"He'll be fine. He's the Doctor." Ian began to lead the way back across the warehouse floor, scattered now with rubble, dust hanging over everything like a haze of smoke. "We just have to hope that there won't be any more bombs. Another explosion like that, and..." He trailed off. Barbara's hand tightened its grip on his briefly, then let go. 

"Yes, well. We'd better hurry then, hadn't we." She pulled ahead, and he had to hurry to keep up, slipping occasionally on chunks of fallen ceiling or broken floor tiles. They reached the end of the warehouse soon enough, passing out into another, identical room beyond. This one was much more of a mess, with fallen girders and tumbles of hot, steaming brick. They picked their way carefully now, Ian with one eye on what remained of the ceiling and walls. He had no intention of being buried here, nor of losing the woman at his side. 

It was Barbara who spotted the Doctor first, perhaps because she was not also looking for falling masonry; perhaps because she was not still blinking dust from her eyes; or perhaps just because she was Barbara, who always did what she set out to do. Ian saw him a second later, his heart hammering in a furious rhythm as the situation became clear. Despite his earlier confidence, at first glance he was quite sure that the old man was dead. 

The Doctor lay quite still, trapped by a fallen girder, although for all its threatening appearance the metal beam had likely protected him from more serious injury. Bricks lay all around him, and chunks of debris rested across the girder, adding to the weight that held him down. He looked deathly pale. Barbara checked his pulse, and brushed his hair aside in a hasty search for damage. 

"He's alive," she said, her voice heavy with relief. "But Ian..." 

"We'll get him out. We have to. We certainly can't leave him here." Ian looked around. It was possible that people would come. Fire-fighters and policemen perhaps, part of the inevitable clean up crew. Would they come before the all-clear signal though? And when would that be? He cast a nervous look up at the sky, in search of more insidious, buzzing bombs. It was so much easier to see the sky in this part of the warehouse. The roof was almost gone, and what little of it remained was hanging down in precarious chunks, leaving the tops of the walls leaning inwards, as though anxious to join the mass of rubble that was strewn across the floor. 

"Barbara, perhaps you'd better go for help." He had no idea where she could go, but if they couldn't shift the rubble trapping the Doctor, then other people were their only hope. She shot him a helpless, desperate look. 

"This place is deserted, Ian. I can't hear anything, can you? Residential areas will be the first priority for the rescue teams. Besides, I can't just leave you." 

"Well there's no sense in all of us—" He broke off, and drew in a deep breath. "We have to get him out, but I'm not sure that we can do that on our own. If we pull the wrong bit of rubble, then everything might come down on him, if not on us as well." 

"And if we don't free him soon he might die. There might not be any time to go rushing about out there looking for help. Should we even risk looking? He's an alien. Human medical help might do more harm than good." 

"That's the least of our concerns right now." Ian took a step back, trying to gauge the situation properly. "Oh, Doctor. How do you get yourself into these things?" 

"Ian..." 

"Hang on a minute, Barbara. I'm trying to think." 

"But Ian." She grabbed his arm, and for a moment, in his frustration and concern, he almost shook her off. Her grip was tight, however, and anxious. Somehow not like Barbara at all. "Wait a moment. Do you smell something?" 

"Smell something?" He felt like a fool for echoing her, but her question confused him. He smelt a hundred things – mostly variations on dust and smoke. "What do you mean?" 

"I think..." She frowned in concentration, her pulse beating furiously against his own. "It's gas, I'm sure of it. If a pipe was ruptured, or—" 

"Don't think about it." He turned back to the Doctor again, stubbornly ignoring both her words and their import. There couldn't be gas. They had to get the Doctor out. The thought of another explosion, when their friend, and their only hope of getting away from this place, was trapped and helpless, was too much to consider. "We have to get him out." 

"But a spark, or—" 

"I know!" He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging yet more of the infernal dust, blinking it out of his eyes once again as he stared at the unchanging tableau. At the Doctor, unconscious and unmoving; at the rubble; at Barbara, worried and afraid – and he had to conclude that he had absolutely no idea what to do. Even in his madcap, eventful life, that was not a feeling that he was especially familiar with. He felt frozen, but he could smell the gas himself now, and he knew that, for all their sakes, he could not remain frozen for long. Rubbing a dirty hand across his brow, he bent once again to the old man. Time was running out. He had to do something, and he could only hope that he would not be making things worse. 

"Hey there." The voice, coming so suddenly from behind them, made them both whirl. It was no terrain for sudden movements, and in her haste Barbara almost lost her footing, shattered tiles skidding every which way beneath her heels. Ian steadied her by reflex, holding on even though it was no longer necessary. 

"Sorry." There was a man walking towards them, wearing the long, blue coat of the RAF, although the clothes beneath it were civilian. He was tall and good-looking, impossibly tanned in this drab, cold vision of London, and he wore a broad smile that was equally out of place. Meeting Ian's gaze, the new arrival flashed him a brief and very obvious wink. "Am I disturbing something?" 

"What? No." Ian let go of Barbara, flustered without quite knowing why. "No. We—" 

"It's okay. Just kidding." The man was American, although what that meant for the RAF coat, Ian had no idea. He came closer, confident and assured for all the debris and dust, the teetering walls and the smell of gas. "Captain Jack Harkness. You seem to need a hand." 

"It's our friend. He's trapped." Barbara gestured unnecessarily to the prone form of the Doctor. "Are there any more of you?" 

"I'm not sure the universe could handle more than one of me." His grin seemed to grow even larger. "Although it's a nice thought." He leaned close to the Doctor, checking for a pulse with surprising tenderness. "Feeling good. He's tough." 

"Yes. Yes he is." Ian felt a renewed surge of hope, although he was not entirely sure why. "Listen, Captain. We thought that we smelt gas." 

"Yeah." Harkness looked up at him, the smile fading rapidly away. "That V1 must have clipped a pipe. I don't recommend going for a cigarette." 

"I wasn't planning to. You're really alone? A couple more men would make all the difference. We have to get the Doctor out of here, and back to— back to his vehicle. We can get him to safety then." 

"I'm it, I'm afraid. I came over here because of some instrument readings I wanted to check up on. Glad that I did." He hesitated, staring at the unconscious Time Lord for a protracted moment, with an expression that seemed strangely wistful – unless Ian's eyes were still badly compromised by the dust. "Doesn't matter. We can do this. Er, Miss...?" 

"Wright. Barbara Wright." She nodded towards Ian. "And Ian Chesterton." 

"Pleased to meet you." For a moment he was smiling again, although it didn't last long. "Okay. I'm hoping we don't have to worry about that gas just yet, but there's a lot more bombs on their way over, and it won't take much to bring this building down on top of us, let alone make that leak a whole lot more of a problem. So we need a lever. Preferably something wooden, so it won't risk sparking on these girders. Anybody see anything?" 

"There should be something we can use." Ian turned away, finding a stout piece of wooden beam without too much looking. It had seen better days, but then by this point hadn't they all. All except Harkness, that was, with his smudge free clothes and his smiling blue eyes. He might have stepped right out of the silver screen, rather than from out of the midst of this carnage. 

"Perfect!" Harkness took the wood with a smile, all brilliant white teeth and sparkling eyes. There was, Ian could not help but notice, a distinct measure of flirtation in his manner, but he filed it under Overly Friendly American. Men were circumspect enough about approaching other men in 1960s London, let alone in the 1940s. 

"We need to hurry," said Barbara, and the sparkling smile turned in her direction instead. 

"Don't worry. We can do this." The distinct note of flirtation was still there, directed just as warmly towards Barbara as to Ian. She met it rather differently, with a sharp look that Ian knew well. 

"This isn't some sort of game, Captain Harkness. There are bombs, and escaping gas, and a man that we care about is trapped." 

"I assure you, ma'am, I have no intention of letting him die." For a moment Ian imagined that there was a steely glint in those ridiculously bright blue eyes; a hint of a determination that made his faith inexplicably soar. Then the smile was back, and the moment of something deeper had gone. 

"Ian?" Harkness had turned the smile on him again. "You gotta be ready when I use this lever. Grab the Doctor and pull with everything you got. I don't know how long me or the lever can hold things." 

"He might be hurt," pointed out Barbara. Ian managed a smile of encouragement, although he felt it something of a damp squib in the face of Harkness's impossible grin. 

"He'll be all right, Barbara. Tough as nails, you know that. Besides, we don't have the luxury of taking care." 

"That's putting it mildly." Harkness checked his watch – for some reason he wore three; an ordinary one on one wrist, a broad-strapped one on the other, and a pocket watch to boot – and then glanced skyward. "We got ten minutes tops. The next bomb to pass this way is going to finish what the last one started, and you do not want to be here then. Trust me on that." 

"You sound as if you know where the bombs will land," said Ian. Harkness held his gaze again, eyes showing a strange sort of honesty. 

"Maybe I do. Some of them. Now grab the Doctor and get ready. Barbara, choose a side. Me and Ian could probably both use a little help." 

"I'll be fine," Ian assured Barbara, this time with real confidence. "I've carried him before, remember. He's not all that heavy." 

"Yes, I remember." She turned to Harkness then, and when he fitted the lever within the mess of rubble, she gripped it alongside of him. Her hands looked small and pale beside his large, brown ones, but Ian knew that her strength was not to be underestimated. He tried to tell her that now with another smile, but all he could manage was a grim nod of readiness. She nodded back. 

"On three?" 

"You got it," said Harkness. Ian nodded again, holding tight to the Doctor's shoulders, and hoping that he was right about the old man being so tough. There could be any number of hidden injuries, and he might even be killing him by tearing him free. However could he face Susan then? But Barbara was already counting, and he pushed the thoughts aside. Right now there was no time for anything save action. 

With a low, painful, creaking sound, the lever shifted a girder, sending small stones rolling across the floor. Ian pulled. As Jack and Barbara pushed, as the rubble growled and groaned, Ian tugged with all his might. The Doctor's clothes were snagging, and the lever had not quite lifted things enough, and the unconscious, uncooperative form was heavier than he had made out – the whole of the universe seemed ranged against them in that lingering instant of time. The lever was bending, its own groans and grumblings mixed in with the complaints of stone and brick and tile and girder, and everything else that gravity and concussion had thrown at the Doctor. The task seemed almost impossible. Ian's feet slipped on chunks of pulverised floor tile, and his fingers, sweaty and uncertain, threatened to slip from the Doctor's shoulders. He fought it all, doubt and gravity and Newton and all his petty laws of motion, until finally, with a painful, almost lazy lack of speed, the Doctor slithered free. Wary of what might happen when the others let go, Ian kept on dragging him, far more easily now, away across the broken floor. 

It was the lever that gave way first. With a dull crack, it snapped into two jagged pieces, sending the weight that had been trapping the Doctor tumbling in all directions, a mini avalanche of splintered assortments. It did not end there. As though that one small thump had been the signal that the building had been waiting for, one of the leaning, unhappy walls began to waver. 

"Run!" yelled Ian, eyes opening wide; and run they did, Harkness's coat billowing out in all directions like a cloak. Barbara was just ahead of him, moving with a speed that Ian would never have believed of her, once upon a time in a London school. For a moment it looked as though they would not make it, the wall collapsing behind them in a great spouting of noise and brick and ever more dust; but somehow they were just fast enough. Somehow Ian was standing up a second later, his arms greeting Barbara in a moment of utter relief. She smiled at him, very quickly, before pure practicality took over. 

"We need to move," she said. Beside them, still looking like something from a magazine cover, Harkness agreed. 

"This place is likely to come down before those bombs reach us. We need to get you out of here. Where's the TARDIS?" 

"That way." Ian answered by reflex, even as his brain was adding things up and making sense of nothing. Now that he thought about it, Harkness had been referring to the Doctor by name, when surely it had not been spoken in his presence? "Wait a minute. Who exactly are you?" 

"Later." Harkness bent, lifting the Doctor into a fireman's carry as though he weighed nothing at all. "Just run." As another wall began to wobble and grumble, and as something that sounded suspiciously like engines began to creep once again across the cloudy sky, Ian and Barbara ran. Back over the debris of the warehouse, back into the other, cavernous room, back over what seemed a painfully great distance, to that tiny blue box that felt like home. Barbara hammered on the door; and as somewhere, not so very far away, the first explosion came, the door swung open and they were finally inside. 

"Get the doors closed," said Harkness, laying the Doctor down. He made no comment on the impossible size of the interior, and nor did he ask any questions. By now that was not a surprise. 

"Grandfather!" Susan asked no questions either, her concern for the Doctor taking over. She hurried to him, checking him over as best she could, her eyes wild and round. "Grandfather, wake up!" 

"Give him a moment or two." Harkness backed away, and when he turned to Ian and Barbara, this time there was no big smile, no air of something so very like flirtation. Ian met his gaze, holding it with what he hoped was a measure of authority; but it was Barbara who took the lead. 

"Who exactly are you?" she asked, with an interrogative note that rather impressed Ian. It seemed to impress Harkness as well, for that now familiar smile flickered briefly back into life. 

"I told you who I am. The important thing is that you never tell him. Neither of you can ever repeat my name within his hearing. You brought him back here yourselves, right? Just you two. I was never here." 

"That's hardly an answer," said Ian. Outside, bombs fell in the gaps between sentences, punctuating their speech with explosions that were growing nearer. Harkness shrugged, with a measure of carelessness that looked just a little too studied to be real. 

"You're time travellers," he said, as the Ship trembled under the force of another bomb. "You figure it out." 

"I think he's talking about protecting history," said Susan quietly, from where she still knelt by the Doctor's side. "Grandfather must know this man, or rather he will do, one day. It's a bit like if I was to go and find you now, wherever your earlier selves are living, and introduce myself." She looked towards Jack for a moment, rather searchingly, then returned her attentions once again to the Doctor. 

"I see," said Ian, largely because he felt that he had to say something. He understood the theory, but it was still not explanation enough. "It still doesn't answer who you are though, Captain." 

"Better you don't know. Messing with time gets sticky pretty fast. I've learned that the hard way." The smile, taking another encore, this time looked rather wan. "Listen, the Doctor will wake up soon. A little blow on the head won't keep him out for long, especially now he's back aboard this old girl. I should leave." 

"You can't go back out there!" protested Barbara. He shrugged, although for once he didn't meet her eyes. 

"Bombs don't worry me too much. Put it down to a little futuristic armour if you like." From somewhere outside the TARDIS there was another explosion, and this time the Ship was rocked more severely than before. 

"You think you can survive that?" demanded Ian. Harkness, with a sudden smile that seemed to come from the very depths of the universe, flashed Ian a wink. 

"I can do any number of things. Try me some time." 

"I'm serious." Another buffeting shook them, and Ian had to grab at the console to keep his feet. Whatever was going on outside, it was clearly now in full swing, and in his mind's eye he saw a steady rain of bombs, the warehouse pulverised around them. He wondered if the fractured gas pipe had already gone up, or if they would know all about it when it did. Either way, going outside did not seem an option. On the floor, apparently disturbed by the rocking, the unconscious Doctor gave a low moan. 

"You're not as serious as I am. He sees me, and goodness knows what could happen. All that bouncing around in time has its downside." For a moment Jack's smile flickered, as his eyes roamed around the console room. Once again his expression seemed strangely wistful, perhaps even longing, but Ian did not really understand why that should be. The smile brightened again, just for a moment, and Harkness gave the tiniest of sighs. "Kinda worth it though, huh." 

"Hide in one of the other rooms," Barbara told him. He shook his head. 

"You'll be leaving as soon as he wakes up. Much though I'd like to accept a lift, there's too many risks. Besides, I got a job to do here. Backs to watch. Maybe some lives to save. Nothing like a good war for washing away a few sins." He looked back to Ian, the warm blue eyes suddenly filled with such a depth of emotion that Ian was almost compelled to reach out to him. Had it not been for another bout of rocking, he might have done just that. 

"Look after him for me? He gets... you know how he gets." Harkness's eyes wandered towards the console, and this time there was no denying the yearning in his expression. "Maybe I'll see you again some day." 

"Not if you go outside," said Barbara, but with a flicker of that ever-ready smile, Jack reached for the door control. Ian moved to stop him, but quite suddenly there was a revolver in the captain's hand, and his expression was deadly serious. 

"It'd be a hell of a waste, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't think about it. Just close the doors after me, and leave it at that." 

"But it's suicide!" protested Ian. Jack simply smiled one final time – and then with one last, lingering look at the Doctor, he was gone. Ian ran to stop him, but Barbara beat him to it, pulling the lever and shutting the doors tight. 

"Barbara!" Ian was horrified, but her expression was grim. 

"You are not going out there. If he wants to take the risk, fine. Let him. But we need you, Ian. I'm sorry." Another blast rocked the TARDIS, and they heard the unmistakable sound of debris crashing down onto the exterior of the Ship. It seemed unlikely now that they would be able to follow Harkness – always supposing that there was anything left to follow. 

"What is all this infernal noise?" grumbled a voice from the floor. Ian and Barbara exchanged a look, half relief, half indecision; and it was Susan who spoke up in answer. Little Susan, who for all her tender years knew far better than they what needed to be done. 

"Bombs, Grandfather," she said gently. "We've landed in the middle of the Second World War, and there's an air raid going on. I really think we should leave as soon as possible." 

"What? Oh, quite, quite. Yes, of course." Sitting up slowly, the old man gave himself a cursory examination, grumbling faintly about old bones. "The Second World War, hmm? I must have misjudged the co-ordinates. An interesting period perhaps, but you're quite right, child. Not the place for us." The Ship shook violently again, and he glanced around, almost as though he expected the roof to come tumbling down. "Definitely not the place for us." 

"Let me help you, Grandfather," offered Susan, and he nodded, taking her arm as he fumbled his way to his feet. 

"Thank you, Susan. What would I do without you?" Brushing away some of the dust from his coat, the Doctor headed slowly towards the console. "Just as well that we're all safely aboard the TARDIS, hmm? It certainly wouldn't do to be out in the middle of this." His words made Ian shift nervously, wanting desperately to speak up. He wanted to tell the Doctor that there was a man outside who might be badly hurt, who might be in great need of help – but the memory of Harkness loomed large. So desperate, so determined, so filled with an obvious desire to stay, but choosing to walk out into an air raid just to avoid meeting the Doctor. Ian didn't understand it, but from the look of her, Susan did. Barbara joined him, surreptitiously holding his hand as the Doctor made preparations for flight. 

"I suppose I owe you my thanks, Chesterton, yes?" asked the Doctor, jerking Ian back from himself. He glanced up, feeling suddenly in the spotlight. 

"Oh. Yes. There was a doodlebug. A sort of bomb." 

"I know what it is, young man. And thank you, thank you. An infernal device. I remember hearing it, but I don't remember what happened next." The old man frowned, and flicked the control for the scanner screen. Susan's breath caught, but before she could say anything, the screen had hummed into life. It showed them the warehouse, parts of it still standing, but clearly now long beyond hope of repair. Ian's eyes roamed the screen, searching for an injured man, or a scrap of blue cloth; anything that might be evidence of Harkness. There was nothing. The captain had completely disappeared. 

"Yes, well. I think that's quite enough of that." Flicking the screen off again, the Doctor heaved a little sigh, that might have illustrated his frustration at the destructive nature of mankind; or perhaps just at his own inability to locate London in 1963. "Time that we were moving on. Where next, hmm? We shall have to see." He pressed a switch, and as the central console began its rise and fall, the TARDIS moved on elsewhere. For better or for worse, they were done with 1944. Jack Harkness would have to fend for himself. 

**********

"Jack! Where on earth have you been?" Several miles away, in a gloomy office, a British Army officer poured a pair of whiskies by way of greeting. He handed one across to Harkness, and eyed him up and down. "You look like every bomb in London landed on your head. We are aware of the concept of air raid shelters, aren't we?" 

"We are." Jack held out his glass, chinking it lightly against the other. "There was something I had to do." 

"You and your mysterious errands. Your precious Torchwood again, I suppose. One of these days, Jack..." 

"I know. Later, Algy. It's been a rough day." 

"And who's fault is that?" The other man sighed. "I just hope this Torchwood is worth it. You're running yourself ragged keeping all these irons in the fire." 

"It's good to keep busy." Curling an arm around the other man, and leading him over to the ancient, purloined sofa against the far wall, Jack flopped down into its dubious embrace. "First rule of survival: Don't stand still long enough for the enemy to catch up." 

"Poppycock. And you're trying to change the subject." Algy looked around, as though having only just noticed that they were sitting on the sofa. "And you're also trying to distract me. I have work to do, you know; and you probably do as well, even if you won't tell me what half of it is." 

"If I told you, I'd have to shoot you." 

"Hmm. Now that at least I can believe." He sipped at his whisky with an air of amusement, and Jack laughed. 

"Just play nice and be distracted. It's good for the soul." 

"You have a very strange way of saying hello, you know that?" 

"Sorry." 

"It wasn't an objection exactly. More an observation. Is there something wrong, Jack? You seem... I don't know exactly." 

"Like I said. It's been a rough day." 

"I noticed." Algy finished his whisky, and set his glass down on the card table that stood beside the sofa. "Still, it was your idea to go out for a stroll in the middle of an air raid. If things got tough, it was your own damned fault." He let out a little sigh, with the air of a man who has been tense for a long time, and has finally been given reason to relax, even if only for a while. "I'm not a fool, Jack. I know you're somehow different these days, but nobody's indestructible, and I wish you'd remember that. Life was pretty boring before you came along. I should hate... well, you know." 

"Yes, I know." Jack set his own glass aside, the dull familiarity of the little office giving him scant reason to relax. He found his way back here so often, to Algy's warm welcome and convenient lack of difficult questions, but it could never feel like home. It could never really feel like anything. Algy clearly noticed his unease, for he reached out to lay a hand upon Jack's, a gesture that he did not often have the confidence to make. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a squib. It's just that yelling at you for taking risks seems to come more easily than... other things. I'm glad you're here, you know that." 

"Yeah, I do. It means a lot to know there's a friendly face somewhere in all this." Jack sighed, eager to chase away the restlessness gnawing at his brain; the memories of travel in far flung places, and a wonderful ship that had been his home and so much more. A life that had meant more to him than he had ever believed possible; a life that had ended for reasons he still didn't understand. "Don't worry, Algy. I'm not cross with you. I guess it's just been one of those days. Want to help me play hookey for the rest of the afternoon?" 

Algy raised an eyebrow, a trace of wry humour causing his eyes to glint. "Are you using me Jack?" The flicker of a frown did its best to chase the humour away. "Demons, maybe?" 

"You have no idea." Such plain honesty was rare, and it took a moment for the more familiar demeanour to return. "That a problem?" 

"No. Besides, it's not like I haven't done the same." The glint in Algy's eyes gave birth to a shy smile; that of a man still finding his feet in a changing world. "But there is a typing pool just next door. And this could become... compromising." 

"They're broad-minded." Jack smirked. "Besides, I had in mind something a little more than compromising. If you get my drift." 

"Suddenly I'm afraid to ask." 

"Liar." Jack leaned in close, for a deep, whisky-flavoured kiss. "Anyway, who needs questions. I'm a whole lot better at practical demonstrations." 

"I'd noticed." Algy's eyes strayed a little nervously towards the door, and Jack caught his chin, gently turning his eyes back to meet his own. 

"Didn't your teachers ever tell you to pay attention when there's a class underway?" 

"Sorry. My report card always did say 'Could do better'." Algy's smile had returned in full, and it drew one from Jack in response. "So how exactly does one go about playing 'hookey'?" 

"Inventively..." Jack slid a hand to Algy's waist, removing the revolver that hung there, and depositing it, with his own, on the table beside Algy's glass. "Energetically..." He shrugged off his long, blue coat. "And as often as possible. And it all begins with just letting go." He leaned in again, and his eyes slid closed. Time to put thoughts of the Doctor and the TARDIS back in their box. They would be together again some day, he had to believe that. In the meantime he had a life to live, the old fashioned way, one inevitable day at a time.

 

The End


End file.
